Vigilante Sunrise
by Joshua Stephens
Summary: Set sometime after the New Jedi Order, a Vongmodified exJedi goes vigilante.


Kyrr Qel Droma walked into the cantina, shaking the acid rain from his cloak. It was a dreary day in the upper levels of Nar Shaddaa, as per usual. It fit his mood perfectly, also per usual. Shrugging his cloak off of his broad shoulders, he extended it toward the gawking teen the establishment used for a doorboy. Staring, the boy took it, hesitantly. _Why must they always stare... _Kyrr thought irritably, flipping a small coin in the doorboy's direction as he stalked to the bar. He knew well what had attracted the boy's gaze; his left arm and shoulder. Captured by the Yuuzhan Vong during the Vong War, he had been augmented' by his captors before he had the opportunity to escape. The most noticeable of these augmentations was his left arm, being covered in crustacean-like armor a dark green in color, which extended to his shoulder which was covered in a pauldron of the same material.

Shrugging off the unwanted attention as a necessary evil, he tossed a coin down on the bar, calling to the bartender. "A Lomin ale, and not out of that keg. That one, there." Kyrr said, indicating a keg near one wall. Grimacing, the barkeeper grabbed a tankard and began to tap his drink, shaking his head. This was the good stuff, the stuff only a few select customers knew of. And he'd never seen this character before in his life. Though he would surely remember him now that he had. Hard to forget a Vong-altered human. At least he looked human. Mostly. Kyrr returned the barkeep's distrustful glare with his one usable eye, the empty, blackened socket of the other unnerving even to such a hardened individual as the Devaronian bartender. _Surprising, to see a Devaronian tending bar, _Thought Kyrr idly.

Deciding that staring down a customer was bad for business, especially this particular customer, the Devaronian irritably set the tankard of ale down heavily on the bar, sloshing dark liquid onto the scarred duraplast. Swearing under his breath, the red-skinned humanoid turned to his one other customer, a dark-furred Chadra-Fan. Turning on his stool to survey the cantina, Kyrr glanced over the many alien and human faces, seeing a much higher grade of criminal than would be found in the lower level watering spots of the same vein. Most of the beings that came to Nar Shaddaa did so for one reason; to get away from a Wanted holoposter. Kyrr was looking for one of these. Seeing a sabacc game in progress against the far wall, a human, a Barabel and two Rodians playing, Kyrr swung down from his place at the bar, starting in their direction.

Reaching the table, he addressed the group, "Mind if I join you?" Looking at the newcomer suspiciously, the Barabel spoke, much clearer than most of his kind. "And Who Might You Be...?"

"You don't really want to know." Said Kyrr in low tones, no expression on his dark-skinned face.

"Chess ko, peedunkey. Hi chuba da naga?" One of the Rodians said, snarling, as he began to rise from his seat, his scaly dusky-hued red face contorting in a confrontational smirk.

"Zzsit, Reetu." Hesitantly, the Rodian sank back into his seat as the Barabel gestured at an empty seat immediately across from himself. Kyrr took the seat, which was beside the human, a slight, nervous-looking man, who hadn't yet spoken but was staring at Kyrr, his face a frozen mask of fear. Addressing the Barabel, Kyrr spoke, "What's the game?"

"Beszpin Zztandard, Withz One Modificazhion. Idiot'z Array Beatzz All. You May Join Usz If You Wizsh. Droid, Deal."

Upon the reptilian alien's order, the dealer droid, suspended above the table, began to deal out the cards. The game of sabacc was played across the galaxy, among royalty and among criminals. The game used a deck of seventy six cards with sixty numbered cards divided into four suits, and two copies of eight special cards. Each player received four cards which made up their hand at the beginning of the game. The suit and value of the cards would shift to different values at random intervals, unless they were placed in the neutral field in the center of the table.

The object of the game was to create a hand holding the value of twenty three, known as Pure Sabacc, or negative twenty three which could be trumped by a positive Pure Sabacc. Negative numbers could be created through the use of the special cards which all, with the exception of the Idiot card, represented a negative number.

At the end of their turn a player had to discard all but two of their cards. A new round began and new cards were dealt. A player won the game by either calling their hand when they had twenty three, or minus twenty three, or if they thought their hand was closer to either number than their opponent's. An Idiot's Array, consisting of any Two, any Three and the Idiot Card was a winning hand as well. Anything over twenty three and under minus twenty three was a bust. A pure zero was also a bust.

Picking up his cards from the table, Kyrr saw that he had received the Three of Flasks, the Five of Staves, the Commander of Coins and the Idiot. A good hand, though it mattered little to him. He placed the Three of Flasks and the Idiot in the neutral field at the center of the table, on the off chance that he might get an Idiot's Array. The human sitting to his left was still staring at Kyrr fearfully, not touching his cards. Ignoring this, Kyrr watched as the Rodian to his right placed the first bid, a small one. Being next in the bidding order, Kyrr laid down a token worth twice that of the Rodian's bid. "I'll see your bid, and raise it once again." He said coldly, his face showing no emotion.

Finally tearing his eyes away from Kyrr's admittedly somewhat frightening visage, the human placed his bid as well, meeting Kyrr's. The Barabel met it as well, the other Rodian, Reetu, folding as the green-skinned Rodian to Kyrr's right raised his bid to match the rest. Discarding all but the two cards he had kept in the neutral field, Kyrr accepted the two fresh cards that the automated dealer sent his way. Yes, there it was. The Two of Sabres. Kyrr now had an Idiot's Array.

"Idiot's Array. I believe that means I've won." Kyrr said, his voice still cold and detached as he placed his cards face-up on the table, in view of the others. 

"Indeed. Well Played," Replied the Barabel.

As the game drew to a close, Reetu stood to leave, saying, "Mee jewz ku, dolpee alay che andoba bargon." As the Rodian left the cantina, the slight human to Kyrr's left began to slowly push his chair away from the sabacc table as well. Having not spoken once during the game, the pale-skinned man started to stand, only to feel an invisible force push him none too gently back into his seat. Puzzled, he tried to stand again, but didn't even get out of his seat this time before he was forcefully shoved back down. Glancing fearfully around the cantina, his feverish gaze came to rest on Kyrr, sitting beside him, not even looking his way. Kyrr was instead addressing the Barabel. "Your friend here seems impatient to relieve himself of our company."

"Pay Him No Mind. Humanzz Are Eazsily Excziteable. No Offensze Meant, Of Coursze."

The one remaining Rodian suddenly apparently got the impression that it would be best to get as far away from here as possible. Standing, he didn't even bother with an excuse. Hurrying toward the door, he looked back only once, nervously, then continued out the wide door, wondering what had caused the odd feeling.

Kyrr ignored the Rodian's departure. "He seems more easily excitable than most. What is troubling you, friend?" Kyrr asked, turning to the shaking man pressed into his seat beside him with a faint, slightly disturbing smile. Terrified of this mysterious force pressing upon his shoulders, the man merely stammered, not able to form a complete sentence. "I... Trouble...? No troub... Ah!"

"Having trouble speaking? Come, join me at my table. You can explain there." Kyrr said smoothly. The wiry little man nodded, inwardly wondering why he had just agreed when the thing he wanted most at the moment was to get as far away from this dark-skinned Vong-altered human as possible.

"Please, excuse us." Kyrr directed this last at the Barabel, who was looking on with a puzzled expression. Rising, he gestured for the human man to follow him and walked toward a booth in the corner opposite the door, striding quickly and purposefully.The man followed, his feet moving against his will, his body disobeying his faltering thoughts. Sliding into one side of the booth, Kyrr indicated that the man should take the opposite seat. As he sat, Kyrr spoke. "You are Huir Jendfit. You already know who I am." Nodding, the man across from him stared at Kyrr fearfully. "It so happens that you have something I need."

Hesitating before he spoke, Jendfit stuttered a bit in forming his words. "I-I-I do?" Impatience strong in his voice, Kyrr replied, "Your boss. Where is he now?" "How should I know?" Said Jendfit, his eyes wandering nervously. "You know. Don't waste my time and your life in a mislead attempt to protect him."

"I don't know anything... I just deliver. I don't have any contact with the boss-" Shrinking back into his seat as Kyrr leaned over the table menacingly, the armor of his left arm thumping heavily down on the duraplast tabletop, Jendfit turned his face away, unable to look Kyrr in his one eye. "Don't lie to me." Kyrr growled. "It's not worth your life, as low a value as it holds." "I'm not lyin-" A vise-like grip closed about his throat, constricting his air-flow. In that moment, Huir Jendfit's life flashed before his eyes. The face of his now dead mother, who would kill him herself if she could see him today, their old apartments in the lower levels, his brother's contemptuous laugh when he had declared his dream to be a fighter pilot some day, his graduation from the Imperial Naval Academy. His subsequent dishonorable discharge for cursing a superior officer when the corrupt man had cruelly humiliated a fellow cadet, his own gradual decline into corrupt depravity, his employment by the many minor crime lords of Nar Shaddaa as a messenger. His most recent employ, by crime lord Grunu Vel Johpla.

Gasping for air, he realized that the gray-skinned former Jedi interrogating him was right. It wasn't worth his life. How would the boss know who blabbed, anyway? He had dozens of messengers spread across the Outer Rim, many who knew where he was at any given time. Jendfit tried to nod, indicating that he would comply. The grip loosened, fading from his throat as if it had never been. His hand releasing it's death grip on the edge of the table, he raised it to his neck, touching it gingerly, as if expecting to find a bruise. "Alright. Alright. Last I heard, he was on Corellia, Coronet I think," Said Jendfit hoarsely, his eyes darting around nervously.

"You see. That wasn't so difficult." Kyrr flipped a large denomination credit chit onto the table. "Get yourself a ticket off this rock." He stood, striding quickly to the exit, retrieving his cloak from the doorboy, ignoring the boy's stares. Now he had a new objective, a new destination. As he stepped out into the filtered rays of the sunrise, the light barely reaching this far down into the depths of Nar Shaddaa's surface, Kyrr Qel Droma permitted himself a slight smile. He now knew where the target was. All that remained was to pay a visit to Corellia's capital city, Coronet, and exact justice where it was needed. That was his life's purpose now. To exact justice upon those the so-called New Jedi Order couldn't be bothered with. To ensure that these criminals could never harm other sentients again. He would do whatever it took for this to happen. Those that stood in his way would fall at his hands, but those that assisted him would be well rewarded.

Making his way toward the spaceport, a faint smile lingering on his dark gray-skinned face, Kyrr Qel Droma walked with renewed energy, his mind already mulling over possible glitches in his plans, and ways around them. Today was a new day. A good day.


End file.
